


Waylon' With Laughter: Rise of the Power of Friendship

by jackie spades (ahabsyndrome)



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Earth-3, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-10-10 12:47:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10438071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ahabsyndrome/pseuds/jackie%20spades
Summary: The working title of this was "jokester gets vored."





	

The news report gave some nonsense account that the ‘Gotham Sewer Monster’ had escaped into the bowels of the city after a destructive, murderous rampage, disappearing deep within the maze of questionable refuse even after the valiant efforts of Gotham’s finest to track the dangerous creature’s movements within. Jackie knows that’s a big, stinky load of baloney if he’s ever heard one, having borne witness to the entire event himself.

Those pansies just didn’t want to get their uniforms dirty. That, and trying to catch this ‘monster’ on his own turf would be suicide. Jackie isn’t in the croc hunting business today, luckily. Though he’s still not sure how much mercy that will grant him in the event that he should give off the wrong first impression. He’s making a vow to every semblance of self preservation remaining within him that he will be on his bestest behavior, for what it’s worth.

This delve into the cistern of filth beneath Gotham is not his first, nor will it be his last. He keeps wondering if the stench is an acquired taste, but he nearly retches each time it hits him on the way inside, and he’s beginning to come to the reluctant conclusion that it will always be that way. He also wonders if the sewers here are considerably stinkier than the sewers in other places, considering he’s been told that Gotham itself smells like the waste of more well kempt cities. This isn’t a strong enough curiosity to drive him to action, plot some sort of sojourn to Metropolis to have a whiff of its excursions. But it’s one of many things that keeps him up at night.

In his hand, he holds a Little Tikes Glow n’ Speak Flashlight. This particular one is a blue hippo, which he holds by the handle and squeezes in order to open its mouth and turn on the light inside. It’s not very stealthy, playing a, frankly, unnerving giggling noise each time he turns it on. Luckily, it doesn’t last as long as the light, but it’s still unfortunate when he’s in the interest of being quiet. These are the sacrifices he makes for the sake of aesthetic.

Maybe having one of these misunderstood semiaquatic animals on his side will earn him some points should he manage to find Gotham’s latest cryptid, though. (There is actually a webpage just for the “cryptids” of Gotham. He’s on it. Mostly as a joke, but it’s still highly flattering to have teenagers edit a timestamp into the corner of blurry, distant photos of him and post them on the internet like he’s a real life creepypasta. Or whatever the kids are calling it nowadays. Videos of him hidden in the dark recesses of YouTube titled “clown sighting [REAL]” will never cease to amuse and delight him.)  

He keeps to the side of the tunnel, preferring the damp, somewhat slippery walkway to wading through twenty percent water and eighty percent who-knows-what-else. Treading as carefully and quietly as he can, he keeps an eye out for any movement that isn’t running water. Signs of gray-green scaley skin, reptilian eyes shining in the dark, anything.  

What he finds, unfortunately, is a whole lot of nothing. Even after a good hour of wandering. Is he paying attention to where he’s going, what part of town he’s underneath? Of course not. Does he know these sewers particularly well? Hell no. But life is an adventure, isn’t it? Surprises are the spice of life. That’s probably how that saying goes. Jokester, unable to go much longer than thirty minutes without making some sort of noise, starts to whistle. A questioning, attention-grabbing tune of one searching for a lost pet of some kind. “Heeeeere gater, gater, gater! Where you at, buddy boy?”

At least if the thing (person?) shows up to snap a monstrous set of jaws at him, he’ll have something to work with. _If_ he can coax him into coming out of his hiding place. Maybe he should have stopped somewhere and gotten a steak or something to bring down here with him. Or wear some barbeque sauce as cologne like in the cartoons. He’s lamenting this all out loud, of course, as he meanders further into the maze of waterlogged corridors, in that hoarse, abrasive voice of his.

“And just when I thought I’d make a friend! Fiddlesticks. I hope you’re not bleedin’ out here, fella. It’d hurt my heart to see a kindred spirit pay the ultimate price for justice like that. Not that I would see it probably, but the sentiment here is what really-” The water’s surface breaks behind him, claws scraping on concrete. Slowly, taking their time. Not a predator’s lunge at a wounded animal, but the curious approach of a suspicious creature whose space has obviously been invaded. Jackie grins.  

Whipping around, he holds up a hand to wave and opens his mouth to call out a greeting, but a massive figure knocks him off his feet before he can get out a sound that isn’t a yelp of surprise. The full force of it is staggering, and he nearly topples over the edge of the walkway and into the water before he can catch himself, hands scrabbling for purchase on the slick floor in an attempt to get back to his feet. His flashlight flies out of his hand, and he can hear it clatter somewhere, but he’s a bit too preoccupied to think about where. It’s dark now. A hand quickly slams down on his back and traps him there on his stomach, knocking the wind out of him in the process. One of five claws, the thumb he thinks, is digging into his lower back hard enough to leave a bruise. Luckily, it’s not quite sharp enough to tear into him and leave any fatal damage. But he’s not counting his blessings just yet.

Still, the smile remains on his face in spite of the side of his face and the front half of his body being so uncomfortably damp, and the difficulty with which he currently must draw breath. He turns his head to try and make eye contact with his assailant when his eyes adjust some to the lack of light.

This is a large fella. Big. Hard to make out enough to make an educated guess, but a lot bigger up close then from the distance he’d been watching from before. It’s hard to tell where exactly his injury must be. With the way this guy moves, it must not be too terribly severe. Hrm. Jackie takes a breath, and tries not to wheeze. “Heh- howdy, neighbor!”  

There’s a sound that clearly communicates irritation from just behind him. His face is just hidden from sight, somewhere beyond his peripheral, but he can almost feel that rumbly, reptilian growl that makes the little purple hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and it’s hard not to think about those teeth being this close to him. He’s jittery, eyes and smile wide as he talks about a mile a minute, “Usually I’d say we might have got off on the wrong foot, but I think you really hit the nail on the head with this one. Or the clown in the kidneys, in this case. Do big gator guys have kidneys? I guess they probably need ‘em too, unless-”  

Suddenly, he’s turned over onto his back, and before he can continue with his ramble, he’s grabbed by the front of his shirt and there’s a horrific, deafening roar right in his face. He tries not to make an attempt to pinpoint what the smell of that breath is.

“Whew-wee, that’s a stench to make candles out of!” Jokester exclaims after a few moments, reaching into his pocket and earning another not-very-happy noise from the big guy. It’s not a weapon he’s getting out though, but something even more powerful. He pulls a piece of gum out of the little box and unwraps it, feeling around for scaley’s mouth and then placing it inside. He then puts his hand beneath his bottom jaw to close it, providing a toothy grin. “For a good _clean_ feeling, no matter what.”

This is the kind of snarl you hear right before you die. “If you say anything else, I’m gonna tear off your legs and see how well you can swim.” He can hear him spit the gum out. Aw.

Jokester just shuts his mouth and nods enthusiastically though, still only barely containing a wheezing laugh. There’s another irritable growl, and that rumbly voice speaks again, “What did you come after me for?”  

No reply. Jokester just stares, tight-lipped and trembling with a silent giggle. This is, apparently, not the reaction that mister reptilian humanoid wanted out of him.  

“I asked a question.”  

Still nothing! Just the fragile facade of a smile barely contained. He’s breathing through his nose, quick as he has to to keep from making any noise.

That rumbly crocodile growl starts up again, like the crank of an engine almost, but more watery and several times as threatening to Jokester’s immediate wellbeing than any greenhouse gases emitted by a Harley Davidson.  

Taking into consideration the ultimatum being presented here, there’s a sudden wheezing laugh that breaks the attempt at the old silent treatment he’d been keeping up. A “ _HAAA”_ that Jokester rasps out immediately upon opening his mouth, followed by breathless laughter between attempts at speech. “Shhh! Haha! No, no, no, no it’s _fine_ . I just came to help is all, I saw what happened to you.” He grasps at two wet, scaley wrists, as if doing so could loosen his grip on him, chuckling nervously. “I saw, back there with the kid. You were trying to help too. I like helping helpers.”  

For several seconds, he seems to consider what Jackie is telling him. There’s a snort. Skeptical. No. Resigned, maybe. His claws relinquish their grasp on the Jokester’s shirt, and he slides to the ground as the gater guy slinks away from him, putting some distance between the two. “Don’t need no help from you.”  

“You need help from _somebody!_ You got shot, silly billy.” Jokester starts to get to his feet. Slowly this time. He gets the idea now that maybe sudden movements aren’t the best course of action here.

Nothing this time. Just the faint glimmer of two eyes staring back at him in the dark. The defensive sort of threatening now, a sort of ‘this is as far as I will recoil, and if you come any closer this will get ugly’ guarantee. Jokester appreciates the honesty, and decides not to test any more boundaries for the time being.  

After several seconds it becomes apparent that the conversation part of this encounter isn’t going to get any further, so he carefully starts to dig around in his jacket’s pockets again, patting them down for the roll of bandages. Then the other stuff. He doesn’t keep it all in one box. That’d get a bit cumbersome to carry around. He just carries the essentials in case he needs to help somebody out when he’s making the rounds. Stop some bleeding until they can get to a hospital, etcetera. Hopefully it’s enough in this case.

“Sorry if I spooked ya.” He mentions, as he’s crouching back down to set a few things on the ground for him. Gauze, tweezers, antiseptic. “I just figured, y’know, us freaks gotta stick together. Nobody else is gonna look out for us, am i right?”

He remains for a few seconds. His grumpy new acquaintance has opted to keep quiet from here on out, apparently. But that’s okay. Jokester smiles. “Just stay safe out there. It’s good to know I’m not alone, but I wanna keep it that way.” He gets back to his feet and brushes himself off. “You can keep all of this.” There’s a pause where normally the other person would voice some sort of acknowledgement. The silence isn’t entirely empty. “See you around I guess!”  

Backing away at first, he waves, then turns around after a few steps and leaves Gotham’s so called sewer monster behind. Wouldn’t seem wise to try to go back the way he came, but there’s gotta be a way back to the surface around here somewhere. He’ll be able to find his way once he’s out of this rank labyrinth.

Maybe it’d be presumptuous to say he made a new friend, but he feels good about this encounter. At first, he thought it was just Jokester against the world. He’s had to learn to laugh in the face of what he’s found in the dark crevices of Gotham’s corrupted core, but he’s finding the silver linings too. More than he ever expected when he first came here.

It’s a relief when he crawls out of the sewers and back to the surface, the sound of distant car horns and yowling cats and life greeting his return to familiarity. To be rejected from even this, he can’t imagine it. To be rejected from this world and still want to _fight for it._ That people exist who harbor such a love for humanity, even beneath a layer of grumpy, asocial scales, it only reinforces that old surge of affection for this place that birthed him even more.

He’s never been more sure in his life that he’s doing something right.


End file.
